


Beginnings

by Barcardivodka



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Community: lewis_challenge, Gen, Lewis Secret Santa 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barcardivodka/pseuds/Barcardivodka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A date, a signature and thirty days’ notice was all that was required to end his career as a police officer</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valancy_joy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valancy_joy/gifts).



> As always, with grateful thanks to my betas and to all who put up with my panic and fretting over this story - your support was very much appreciated.

Detective Sergeant James Hathaway placed the envelope in front of him on his desk. It was an ordinary piece of stationery, the cheapest of its kind from Oxfordshire Police’s preferred supplier, in the office acceptable plain white. It was unsealed and unaddressed.

If the envelope was unremarkable, its contents were not. Neatly folded within was all that was necessary for James Hathaway to resign. A date, a signature and thirty days’ notice was all that was required to end his career as a police officer.

It would be his second failure.

He’d have failed in another attempt to provide solace to those who were in need. On a more personal level, it would be another catastrophic quest to find a place of understanding and acceptance for his weary soul.

DI Charles Knox was not a good governor. He shared his disdain for his bagman to all who would listen, undermining Hathaway’s attempts to forge a good working relationship with the lower ranking constables and gain the respect of his fellow sergeants.

Unfortunately, Hathaway was not a gregarious man, and although he had a dry sense of humour, it always seemed to fall flat amongst his peers. Even his looks worked against him, giving him an air of aloof superiority. Add to that his rare smiles and even rarer laughter and he really didn’t stand a chance in changing people’s Knox-inspired opinion of him.

It also didn’t help that Detective Chief Superintendent Innocent had taken a shine to him. She saw him as the future of a modern CID. He was perceived to have the boss’s ear which made it even harder to establish a relationship with his colleagues.

It left him on the fringes of the department struggling to prove his worth and abilities.

He picked up the envelope and slid it back into the inside pocket of his jacket. It was his penance, to persevere. It hadn’t just been Knox who hadn’t taken to him; his previous two DI’s hadn’t either. Although less obvious than Knox, they had also found something innately wrong with him, unable or unwilling to take the time to get to know him.

Hathaway knew the fault lay with him, but was at a complete loss on how to change.

He glanced up at the clock on the office wall. 10.45pm. The rest of the monthly reports Knox had emailed him to complete would have to wait. DCS Innocent had “requested” that he pick up DI Robert Lewis at the airport tomorrow morning and make sure the Inspector was in her office at 10am, sharp. Hathaway grabbed his coat and shrugged it on, shutting off his computer at the same time.

He’d heard of the DI, everyone in Oxfordshire police had. Lewis was the fabled bagman of the misanthropic, inscrutable DCI Morse. Lewis had been a likeable, cheery man, by all accounts, and had proven his worth as a good detective in his own right, carrying on the astonishing case closure rate he had achieved under Morse. That had all changed with the sudden demise of Lewis’ wife and the solace he found at the bottom of countless bottles of brandy. A last chance secondment to the British Virgin Islands had now come to an end and Hathaway was to play envoy to a man no-one had heard from in two years. Was Lewis still the embittered man that had left a sorrowful impression in the minds of those who knew him, or had two years away from Oxfordshire brought him some peace and acceptance?

As Hathaway climbed into his car, all he could think off was that it didn’t usually end well for the messenger, especially when said messenger had some form of built-in repellent directed at Detective Inspectors.

 

******

Two days later Hathaway was sat in the garden of the Trout. He gazed out over the river as he contemplated the fickle nature of the fates. Hathaway had somehow managed to become the bagman to one of the best DIs he had ever encountered.

Admittedly it hadn’t started out well. With the newly arrived DI Lewis in tow Hathaway had been called to a murder. With Knox under suspension for an alleged drink driving charge and DI Grainger unable to take over immediately, Lewis had convinced Innocent to let him lead the investigation, much to Hathaway’s dismay. Lewis had been snappish and shown an almost instant dislike for him, treating him as a fresh-faced constable rather than the reasonably seasoned sergeant he was.  
Hathaway resigned himself to the inevitable and had just knuckled down and got on with it. He was only going to be with Lewis for two, three days at most.

Unbidden, Hathaway had run down an old case report when Lewis had been puzzled by Morse’s involvement in a juvenile case involving Danny Griffon. With nothing to lose, Hathaway had stood his ground over the timing of Danny’s movements, questioning Lewis’s apparent willingness to ignore a half-hour gap. To Hathaway’s surprise, despite snapping at him, Lewis had followed his suggestion through.

Lewis had seemed to mellow during the day and Hathaway had invited him for a drink, as any worthy bagman should. As they’d walked to the pub, he’d readily answered Lewis’ questions about himself. The information he’d given was common knowledge around the station and something Lewis could have easily found out from Doctor Hobson if he’d wanted to know.

Thankfully, Grainger’s timely phone call had halted their conversation. Lewis had reacted badly to Hathaway’s religious background and his polite, but curt “It’s not my fault you lost your wife” had darkened Lewis’ face even further.

But today had been a revelation.

Lewis had apologised to him for his snappish comments the evening before, and as the related murders mounted up, Lewis had started to treat him like a proper bagman. He had almost been rendered speechless when Lewis had taken the blame over the ballistic report that Hathaway had completely forgotten about.

Lewis was a great detective, solid and thorough, and he used his bagman as a sounding board. He had listened, actually listened, to the ideas and insights Hathaway had had on the case.

Hathaway had been almost desperate to have Lewis as his governor and was still finding it hard to take in that it had actually happened. He had found someone to learn from and who was willing to teach him, and quite possibly someone he could connect with, someone who looked beyond the surface and saw some of the real man inside.

Hathaway pulled out his cigarettes and lit one up. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the plain white envelope that contained at best a penance, at worst another failure. Or at least it had. But now, now he had found a place for himself, no longer to be pushed from DI to DI. A place where he was comfortable, and dare he admit it, even happy. He flicked open his lighter and lit one edge of the envelope, watching as the orange flame consumed not just the official papers and cheap stationery but his guilt and shame, or at least some of it. He placed the burning paper into the ashtray and watched it shrivel to ash.

“What’s that then?” Lewis’ voice said from behind his shoulder.

Hathaway waited until Lewis had sat down and placed an orange juice in front of him before he replied cryptically.

“A new beginning, sir.”

“Oh, aye,” Lewis lifted his glass, unfazed by Hathaway’s comments. “To new beginnings, then,” he toasted, tilting his pint glass towards Hathaway. Hathaway picked up his glass of orange and clinked it against Lewis’.

“To new beginnings,” he echoed.

It sounded very much like a promise for them both.


End file.
